En Prise
by Unlucky Rabbit's Foot
Summary: After years of living in hiding as a forensic scientist, Leon Powalski emerges from the shadows and returns to his master's side. (Pre-StarFox)
1. Prologue

The bodies were everywhere; their cold, dead eyes open as if staring, unseeing up at the flickering fluorescent lights that hung from the mortuary ceiling. Leon Powalski drew in a sharp breath and took a drag from the cigarette that hung from the thin blue line of his lips.  
  
The bodies were everywhere, and they were all his.  
  
Tail swishing lazily behind him, Leon made his way down the main aisle, surveying the corpses that lay side by side and one per table. He counted fifty in total. In life, they had been citizens of Corneria City; in death, they were his babies. Satisfied that the autopsy room was just as he had left it, Leon crossed to the sink and turned the faucets. Fifty bodies, and he had a long day ahead of him.  
  
Tendrils of smoke spilled from his nostrils as Leon issued a thin, rasping sigh. He washed.  
  
"If this job doesn't kill you, the smokes will," an unsettling familiar voice chortled.  
  
Leon spared a fleeting glance in the direction of the voice, cringing inwardly as it became known to him. Wolf O'Donnel emerged from the shadows of the doorway. With a snort of disgust, the aging chameleon bit down on his cigarette, plucked a pair of surgical gloves from the countertop and snapped them on.  
  
"I'm busy," he hissed irritably, ushering Wolf out with a dismissive wave of one clawed hand. "Shoo."  
  
Wolf choked back a mirthless chuckle. "Come on, Leon," he drawled, paws stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as he traced Leon's footsteps, meandering down the aisle and toward the sink. "There's no harm in having some living company once and awhile, is there?"  
  
Leon did not reply. Instead, he turned on a heel, surgeon's briefcase in claw and briskly whisked past his unwelcome visitor. One slitted, yellow eye rolled back to watch Wolf's reaction, its beetle-black pupil flashing menace. He was not surprised to find the shaggy-looking canine already at his heels.  
  
"God damn, it's crowded in here. Do you usually have this many houseguests?"  
  
The chameleon tightened his grip on his briefcase, knuckles whitening under the pressure. "No."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Poison gas," Leon snapped curtly, each word falling like a separate shard of glass. "Ironic, as I was the one who designed it. Now, unless this is a matter of pressing importance, I would suggest that you leave. Immediately."  
  
Leon came to a halt at table #42, his sinuous body positioned at the feet of the still-sheeted body that lay atop it. He'd been meaning to start on this one. Ignoring the snarling presence that loomed behind him, Leon took the corpse's hindpaw in one hand and examined the tag hanging from its toe.  
  
"All I'm asking is for a minute of your time," Wolf said, growling into the forensic scientist's ear as he clamped his paw down onto Leon's shoulder. "Is that so much?"  
  
Unflinching, Leon snagged the sheet in his gloved claws, whipping it off the corpse to reveal a young vixen, nude all but for a few patches of mottled, tawny fur that Leon's assistant had missed when he shaved her the night before. Forensic science was a messy enough business without mammalian coats getting in the way.  
  
"I haven't a minute," Leon muttered absently as he set his surgeon's briefcase upon the table and popped it open. "For you, or anyone else. Now get out."  
  
To Leon's dismay, Wolf did quite the opposite. With a quiet grunt, he eased himself up onto the table and sat beside the vixen, his legs dangling over the edge. "Leon, listen to me. You won't regret it."  
  
"I do believe I told you to get out," Leon said, voice trembling as he struggled to keep it even. Rage began to bubble in his stomach. "So why are you still here?" With utmost care, he drew a scalpel from his briefcase and turned it over between his claws, watching as the light played over its sickle-like surface.  
  
"I take it that you haven't turned on the news," mused Wolf, his one eye sweeping over the feminine body that lay before him with the same hungry look that Leon reserved for his scalpel. "It's on every channel, you know."  
  
When Leon looked up, he was horrified to find Wolf's paws atop and fondling his cadaver's breasts. Knife clattering to the floor, he struck out and caught Wolf by the wrist. "And what, praytell, is on the news?" he asked, positively seething as he twisted the canine's arm back at an impossible angle. Obvious pleasure twitched at the corners of Leon's mouth. He smirked. "I'm listening now."  
  
Wolf cried out, his howl strangled by the burst of pain that tore through his elbow. "Bastard! Look for yourself!"  
  
With his free hand, Leon reached into the pocket of his lab coat and retrieved the remote that belonged to the video screen mounted on the far wall. He pressed the button labelled: on.  
  
Zzzzt!  
  
Leon was greeted with an extremely pixilated close up of a St. Bernard's face, a microphone thrust so close to the canine's graying muzzle that the flapping of his lips issued a loud 'pop' whenever he opened his mouth. Leon recognized the St. Bernard as none other than General Pepper.  
  
"--and we lost communication with the commander at 1400 hours," spluttered a very flustered Pepper. "We haven't been able to pick up a signal since."  
  
Quirking an intrigued eyeridge, Leon released Wolf from his iron grip. "What is this?"  
  
Wolf whimpered, rubbing tenderly at his elbow as he shot a glare in the chameleon's general direction. If Leon noticed the way Wolf's lips curled back into a nasty, feral little snarl, he made no outward signs of it. "Just keep watching," Wolf muttered.  
  
Leon's eyes never left the screen.  
  
"Is there any chance that they could have survived, General?" a tiny voice chirped off screen. "Is Venom's atmosphere even breathable?"  
  
"Is it true that they were set up?" demanded another, much more husky than the first. "Is it true that StarFox was betrayed by someone inside the Cornerian Defense Force?"  
  
On screen, the giant figure of General Pepper sagged, shoulders slumping as he lowered his gaze. "No more questions," he mumbled darkly, great ears flapping as he shook his head from side to the side. The light in his eyes went out and slowly, ever-so-slowly General Pepper turned around, his back to the camera as he pushed through the surging crowd, ambling away as the screen faded to black.  
  
Leon tucked the remote back into his pocket. "Explain."  
  
"I told you that Andross had someone working on the inside," Wolf said, ears twitching toward the sound of Leon's voice. He reached up and adjusted his eyepatch out of nervous habit. "His name is Pigma Dengar. Sound familiar to you?"  
  
Leon's smirk curled up and across his face, revealing the pinkish length of his tongue as it stretched from eye to eye. Spent, the cigarette fell from his lips. "Quite."  
  
"He wants you back, Leon. He wants us back, after all these years."  
  
Without another word, Wolf pressed an envelope into Leon's gloved hand. The chameleon's eyes swiveled to fix themselves on the wax seal. It bore a likeness to a man he knew very well indeed.  
  
"Andross." 


	2. I

I.  
  
Cigarettes were always better after sex, Leon Powalski decided with a wry smile. Stroking the roll of tobacco between his spindly fingers, the chameleon gazed up at the ceiling, his eyes fixated on one particular patch of ceiling. It, unlike the rest of this apartment, wasn't falling apart. Bits of chipped green plaster clung to scraggily wires protruding from the tiles overhead, and even though Leon couldn't see it, he could hear the choppy whirring of a ceiling fan beyond repair.  
  
Leon sighed. Is this what things had come to? Six months ago, he had been one of the most prominent forensic scientists in Corneria City. Well, not that autopists were ever really prominent, but as far as funeral directors went, Leon was definitely the most sought after. Where most of his colleagues went about their business with a degree of heavy-hearted monotony, Leon treated his corpses like he would his children. Lovingly, some might say, to the point where it boarded with an unhealthy obsession with the dead.  
  
Leon Powalski had been an artiste and the cadaver, his canvass.  
  
Not anymore. When Wolf O'Donnell walked into his life this day, six months ago, everything had gone straight to Hell. Honour bound, Leon Powalski had no choice but to answer Andross' calling. They went back, way back, the three of them.  
  
To refuse Andross meant the end, and Leon, at the ripe old age of twenty- eight, still had a long life ahead of him.  
  
"He wants you back, Leon," Wolf had said. "He wants us back, after all these years."  
  
Leon doubted that Andross wanted his old companions so much as what they had to offer. Years of heavy-handed labour had secretly been spent developing biological and chemical weaponry for Andross before the ape's fall from grace. If the sinking feeling in Leon's stomach was any indication, further research was the reason that his fellow scientist had finally requested his presence in exile.  
  
And so, without even the slightest whimper of protest, Doctor Powalski closed his business, packed his things and was spirited away to Venom. Upon arrival, Leon and Wolf had been greeted by Andross' nephew, who, without missing a beat, confirmed the chameleon's initial suspicions. He had never really liked Andrew, and it came as no surprise to Leon that the whiny little brat he'd been forced to put up with during his years in Andross' lab hadn't ever grown up. He was still a whiny little brat (albeit a seven foot one) with a brain the size of a peanut.  
  
The only thing worse than Andross' insufferable nephew was the man responsible for his present, peculiar position. Pigma Dengar.  
  
Leon Powalski didn't even want to think about Pigma Dengar right now. All he wanted to do was wrap his claws around the trotter's flabby neck and squeeze.and squeeze.and squeeze.  
  
"Leon?"  
  
Rudely awakened from his unhappy little reverie, Leon groaned and rolled over onto his side, weight propped up by his crooked elbow. "Yes, my dear?"  
  
The whore who lay beside him fiddled nervously with her strawberry blonde hair and pressed one dainty paw to the chameleon's naked chest. "You look upset."  
  
Her concern, feigned as it was, had a way of warming Leon's frigid heart. He would be a fool to say that the feeling he felt squirming inside of him was love. It was desire, pure and simple. Lust, Leon had decided upon first meeting her the night before, was too strong a word. Granted, she was a pretty little squirrelly thing with her auburn fur and sparkling green eyes, plump breasts and concave stomach. Worth the price he paid for her, but no more.  
  
"Think nothing of it," he murmured into her furry ear as one claw tip caressed her cheek. "Now run along. Your money's on the table."  
  
Giggling, the squirrel wriggled out from under Leon's arm and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her client gave her a firm pat on the ass and that was that. Leon indulged in the female body only when his own demanded release, and now, with the stress of the past six months hanging over his head, the chameleon had no scruples about his ungentlemanly behaviour. Andross permitting, he might even seek her out again tonight. As it was, he was stuck here in Corneria City, wasting away in this hellhole of an apartment until he received further orders.  
  
Life wasn't even worth getting out of bed anymore.  
  
~*~  
  
The bane of Leon's existence decided to pay him a visit half an hour later.  
  
Three sharp raps on the door and Leon shouted, "Come in!"  
  
Irritably, he pulled on his plush cashmere robe and tied the sash, concealing his body beneath the maroon fabric. The sound of a handle turning followed by a rapid clickity-click-click reached Leon's ears.  
  
"It's locked!" squealed a distraught voice.  
  
Leon recognized it right away and cringed. "As it should be." Staccato steps brisk and hurried, he crossed to the door. At least the prostitutes around here have some sense, he thought. "What do you want, Dengar?"  
  
"It's not what I want," replied the voice. "It's what Andross wants."  
  
About damned time. Reluctantly, Leon unlocked the door and opened it a fraction of a hair, just enough to peek out into the hall. A stout little warthog stood akimbo, hooves on his hips, one booted foot tapping impatiently.  
  
"I take it our orders have arrived," Leon said.  
  
Pigma nodded. "Don't look so sore about it, Leon. They're real good."  
  
Real good? Well, that was something. Leon released the handle and allowed his visitor into his makeshift home. It was a small apartment, drafty at times, but Leon had tried his best to spruce it up into something more like his quarters back on Venom. The wooden floorboards had been polished to the point of being worn down; a problem that Leon was easily corrected by requesting an ornately woven throw rug covered to cover up the splintery bits. Still, he didn't dare cross the length of the apartment without a pair of slippers (at the very least!).  
  
"Let's see what you've got."  
  
Pigma sat down at the coffee table and quietly helped himself to a large bowl of fruit, flat snout sniffing a suspiciously shiny-looking banana.  
  
"Don't worry," Leon drawled as he took a seat opposite of his unwelcome houseguest. "They're not made of plastic."  
  
Pigma grunted and began to peel the banana. "This time." He reached into his jacket pocket, clumsily fishing for something deep inside. "Wolf and I got this late last night, eh? Good stuff."  
  
"The banana or the orders?"  
  
Mouth full, Pigma could only glower at the smirking chameleon sitting across from him. "The orders, you idiot," he said, spitting slobbery chunks of half-chewed banana all over Leon's glass-paned coffee table. At least, that's what he tried to say. It came out as: "Thmph orpmph-ormphs, urmph-urmph!"  
  
Leon sighed, watching with half-lidded eyes as Pigma laid out a map of Corneria City. "Swallow before you speak."  
  
Pigma obliged. "So here's the plan. Wolf and I, we've got contacts to meet down west. They're marked in red and black. You, you're taking the east, got it? It's marked in green. Andrew did all the colour codin'. It's green because you're green. Kinda fancy, don't you think? Easy to remember too."  
  
"Asinine," Leon snapped. "Shut your noise hole."  
  
Pigma blinked, confusion in his beetle-black eyes. "You don't want to know what you're supposed to do?"  
  
Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, Leon snatched up the map and skimmed the crisp piece of colourful paper for anything that remotely resembled green. He found it in the lower left-hand corner.  
  
"You want me to go to a bar and meet with a complete stranger," Leon said. "For what purpose?"  
  
"Don't know," Pigma admitted with a sheepish shrug. "Far as I know, we're picking up something for Andross. Could be information. Probably information. Whatever it is, it's going to be done up in a pretty little ribbon. Don't worry about finding your contact. He'll find you."  
  
Leon allowed a wry smile to curve his lips. "How reassuring."  
  
~*~  
  
Author's Notes: Ye Gods, this chapter took me forever to finish. I just kept rewriting and reworking the entire storyline until I came up with something that worked (IMHO). Sorry it took so long!  
  
Alan Raptor - Thank you. :)  
  
Jenger - Wow, I never get such quite detailed reviews from any of my readers! *beam* I wouldn't say I'm trained exactly. I've taken a few writing courses here and there, but nothing really serious. The only advice I have to offer is keep writing. Even if the prose looks like you've put it together with rusty scissors and scotch tape. Blank pages are my mortal enemy. You can always go back and fix your work as long as there's something to fix. En Prise is actually a chess term.  
  
Wren - Have faith! ;) I'm working on it. Chapters are short, I know. With time, they should grow longer. 


	3. II

II.  
  
Leon Powalski hated the dark. It wasn't that he was afraid of it, exactly; no, what grown man, in his right mind, was afraid of the dark?  
  
It was an utterly preposterous concept, the chameleon decided as he clipped along the alleyway. He just didn't like being in the dark. Simple as that. It was a completely understandable phenomenon, this drowning blackness that robbed him of his precious eyesight, closed around his throat and set his heart beating just a little bit faster.  
  
Okay, so maybe he was a little afraid. But certainly not of the dark. What caused the sweat to bead upon his bald brow was the suffocating feeling that anything could be lurking just around the corner. Waiting. Waiting for him.  
  
It was for this reason, and this reason alone that Leon kept to the protective diadem of light cast by the towering streetlamps above. Golden hues bathed the abandoned alley in all that was pure and good, warming him to his very soul.  
  
Or at least it would have, if he had a soul to warm.  
  
Leon chuckled. Interesting prospect, that.  
  
He glanced up from the map he held in his spindly claws, giant amber eyes settling upon the rundown building before him. Two stories tall and adorned with a disgustingly vast collection of flashing neon signs, The Crow's Nest looked like something straight out of a really bad graphic novel. Leon could smell the sickly sweet stench of liquor burning his nostrils from fifty feet away. How quaint. He had been a fool to expect something classier. This was the worst part of the city, and as just as Wolf had told him mere hours ago, The Crow's Nest wasn't the sort of place that Leon would ever look should he ever lose himself. The only reason he was here was to meet Andross' contact, pick up the package and go. It shouldn't, Leon reflected, take longer than ten minutes. At most.  
  
Eager to escape the dead of night and subsequent darkness, Leon briskly crossed the distance between himself and the seedy dive. Through the revolving door he slid, sinuous body blending in with his shifting surroundings. If it was one thing that his skin was good for (apart from holding in all the squishy bits), it was its ability to change just so and allow Leon to blend in with scenery. But much as he wished otherwise, the chameleon never went unnoticed for very long.  
  
On the inside, The Crow's Nest was bustling with activity. Any plans that Leon might have had to hide out in some smoky corner were completely shot to Hell the moment that he found himself sandwiched between the wall and an extremely burly grizzly. It happened so fast that he didn't even have time to cry out before one giant paw clamped down around his snout.  
  
Leon seethed. He didn't like this one bit.  
  
"Tall fella, aint'cha?" The grizzly drawled as he held Leon up against the rough brick wall. "But not very big, if y'know what I means."  
  
Leon knew very well what he meant. At six foot two, the chameleon towered over many of his peers. He was not, however, sturdy as most. Almost as fine-boned as the day he hatched, Leon was an unusually slender, frail thing. It wouldn't have taken more than a single swipe of the grizzly's paw to knock his head clean from his shoulders, so delicate was he.  
  
Then again, Leon wouldn't be surprised if the grizzly was as wide as he was tall. If that were the case, rolling anyone's head wouldn't have been that difficult a feat.  
  
"Kindly put me down," Leon hissed through his nose, voice so squeaky and nasal that it completely betrayed his menacing tone, which, under normal circumstances, would have sent most small mammals scurrying for cover.  
  
The grizzly simply laughed and began to rifle through Leon's pockets with his free paw. "In a minute."  
  
Some fine establishment this was, allowing goons to loot its customers at will.  
  
"You have until the count of ten to put me down," Leon replied curtly. "Lest you face the consequences. One."  
  
"Oh, that's funny. Say it again."  
  
"Two."  
  
The grizzly ripped the coat from Leon's shoulders and slung it over his arm. It hadn't been a very good coat anyway. He wouldn't miss it.  
  
"Three."  
  
A paw thrust into his pants, groped, and Leon lost his patience. Fourfivesixseveneightnineten.  
  
*CRACK!*  
  
Leon's knee connected with the grizzly's middle chest, invading his tormentor's ribcage the exact same way that the paw had invaded his most private of spots. With a strangled groan, the grizzly dropped to the floor and lay still. It was all too easy for Leon slide from the limp grip and step over the unconscious body.  
  
"You should have aimed lower."  
  
Leon whipped around to face an assembly of stunned faces. He had created a scene. Wolf would be proud.  
  
A blue-feathered avian wearing a lopsided grin emerged from the crowd and clapped Leon firmly on the shoulder. "I said, you should have aimed lower."  
  
Taken aback, Leon jerked his head to the side, sneer curling his lips. "Perhaps."  
  
"I saw what you did there," the avian went on to say, grin broadening at Leon's startled reaction. "Was going to step in, but it looks like you didn't need the help. Took care of the problem yourself. Smart move."  
  
Leon appraised the avian with a scrutinizing stare and was surprised to see that he didn't so much as flinch. A crimson mask of scruffy feathers encircled his slanted eyes, so green that they rivalled the colour of Leon's skin. Yet to outgrow his youth, the avian had a jaunty look about him, tall and lanky with legs a few inches too long in comparison to the rest of him.  
  
"The name's Falco Lombardi," he said, unconsciously smoothing the wrinkles from his black flight suit. "And you are?"  
  
"Leon Powalski." He wished the avian hadn't asked. "And I really must be going."  
  
Before he could turn and retreat to a quiet corner, Falco chuckled, grabbed Leon by the shoulder and steered him towards the bar. "Leon Powalski, huh? Go figure. I've got something for you."  
  
This was his contact? Leon lifted an eyeridge. "You do, do you?"  
  
"I do indeed, my friend. But first, let me buy you a drink."  
  
Leon found himself sitting on an oversized stool, legs hooked behind the metallic column to keep from falling off. His tail curled around the base of the seat for extra measure. "I don't drink."  
  
Falco looked amused. He waved one dismissive wing. "And why the Hell not?"  
  
"It clouds the mind and thickens the tongue," Leon replied, his face a stoic mask as he motioned for the bartender to fetch him a glass of water. "I like to be at my best."  
  
Were this any other man, Leon would have floored the bloke by now. For someone so young and inexperienced, Falco Lombardi was very forward. As soon as he got back to Venom, he would have to talk to Andross about his choice in delivery boys.  
  
"I guess that's understandable," Falco said. "Anyway, when you walked in, I thought you might be the guy I was looking for. When you bottomed Bruno back there, I knew you had to be."  
  
Bruno? Leon glanced over his shoulder at the unmoving furry lump in the doorway. Ah. Bruno. "I'm sure our introduction proved that beyond a doubt, Mister Lombardi. Get to the point, if you please."  
  
If Falco was offended, he didn't offer much of a riposte. "Point is this," he said as he slid a little black box across the countertop.  
  
"And what is this?"  
  
"Just a little something. Andross will know what to do with it."  
  
Leon narrowed his eyes. There was something about the avian's tone that made his insides squirm with suspicion. Not everyone used that name so casually.  
  
"You really should keep your voice down," Leon said as his claws closed around the little black box. Flight recorder data. It had to be. Even though Leon's expertise had nothing to do with spacecraft, he knew his way around the inside of a ship. He had to. There was no mistaking this piece. But what did Andross want with flight recorder data?  
  
"And you really should watch where you're going next time. If you'd kept your eyes in front of you, you'd have seen Bruno long before he grabbed you."  
  
Leon stiffened, spine going rigid as he shot up and recomposed himself. Unlike Wolf, he wasn't so quick to leap to his own defence. Let the avian say what he wanted. There was enough truth to it. Yes, Leon had to admit; he really should have been paying closer attention.  
  
Instead of taking Falco Lombardi by the throat and twisting him into a feathery pretzel as Wolf O'Donnell might have done, Leon simply smiled and said, "I believe that concludes our business."  
  
"Nice meeting you."  
  
"The pleasure has been entirely mine." The epitome of professionalism, Leon rose from his seat, politely declined his glass of water when it arrived and left The Crow's Nest without a second glance behind him. 


	4. III

It hadn't been flight recorder data.  
  
" Arwing. What the Hell is an Arwing?"  
  
"I don't know." Leon frowned. His amber eyes rolled forward, pupils pinning to fix themselves on the three dimensional grid that lay before him. A sleek looking fighter danced across the tabletop, executing a startling variety of airborne manoeuvres that he didn't think possible until now. Its wings swept back behind the proud blunted cockpit to reveal a model of the pilot. No distinguishing features whatsoever. As far as Leon could tell, he'd gotten his grubby little claws on a prototype.  
  
It was strange. This little ship was nothing like he'd ever seen before, and certainly nothing that the Cornerian militia had ever attempted to design. Arwing. It had an eerie sort of ring to it.  
  
Leon thrust his legs out and swivelled to face his shaggy companion. His chair squeaked under the extraneous pressure. "What do you think?"  
  
"I think," Wolf murmured, single eye narrowing as he read the text flashing underneath the model. "That this is exactly what we've been waiting for. Pretty gel, ain't she?"  
  
Slender fingers clipping along the keyboard, Leon changed the view on the arwing and pressed on, choking back a delighted chortle when the statistics on the fighter popped up in a separate, blinking window. "Very. But I still don't understand how the Cornerians let this information slip so easily." One claw trailed thoughtfully along the curve of his reptilian snout. "Were I Andross, I would be wary about this."  
  
He reached out to pat the little black box beside him. It was a little difficult. The desktop had been converted to a labyrinth of wires, thick mechanical entrails strewn over the table to allow the data from Leon's catch to pass freely between the box and his computer.  
  
Wolf nodded curtly in agreement. "Yeah. Who did you say the contact was?"  
  
"Falco Lombardi," Leon said. "Rough sort of feathery fellow. You'd probably like him."  
  
"I don't see what the problem is."  
  
Both chameleon and wolf turned to face the eager-eyed vervet monkey sitting directly behind them. Leon struggled to suppress an agonized groan. He'd almost forgotten that the little wretch was there. Alas, wishful thinking.  
  
"You don't?"  
  
Andrew nodded his enthusiasm. "I don't! Uncle Andross will be most pleased when you deliver this to him. What did you say it was called again?"  
  
"Arwing," Leon supplied. "I wouldn't trust this data if my life depended upon it. Why would Andross? Surely you can't pass this off as a lucky catch."  
  
"It's possible." This, from Wolf.  
  
Leon turned to his long time companion, snout parting to produce an incredulous albeit affronted snort. "You're very suggestible. The both of you." One clawed hand closed around the thick mass of wires connecting the little black box to the computer. "Therefore your opinions don't count." Leon tugged hard and the grid went black.  
  
Andrew voiced his protest in the form of a squeal, cutting Wolf off before the lupine could even open his muzzle. "What did you do that for?"  
  
"Delusional." At Andrew's complex look of confusion, Leon sighed and waves his hand dismissively. "Haven't you ever heard of something being too good to be true?"  
  
"You don't think it's a set up, do you, Leon?" the monkey asked.  
  
It was Wolf who answered. "He does," he snapped. "That's exactly what you think, isn't it, you pompous prick. Plug those back in!"  
  
"No."  
  
"I'm in charge here, and I say put those back in!"  
  
Leon rose slowly to his feet and casually tossed the wiring aside. "Oh, you are, are you? Interesting. I don't recall Andross granting you, or anyone else, a leadership position here."  
  
"My ass!"  
  
"-is overly large."  
  
"What?!"  
  
Andrew watched the exchange with an impish grin, watching the insults bounce back and forth like a ball at a tennis match.  
  
"You really shouldn't rise to such petty barbs."  
  
"Petty! Look who's being petty!"  
  
"I am. Right at him."  
  
"Necrophiliac!"  
  
"Drunk."  
  
"I'll kill you!"  
  
"You're welcome to try."  
  
It was then that Andrew decided to intervene. He didn't get very far. Before he could part the two, Wolf had lunged over the table in the furious scramble for Leon's throat. Only by some divine miracle did the monkey manage to catch the black box as it careened over the edge and into his waiting lap.  
  
"You guys! Stop it! You're going to break something!"  
  
It wouldn't be the first time. Quick on his feet, Leon easily dodged the first blow that came his way. Wolf's fist flew right past his head before connecting solidly with the wall. Plaster exploded over the carpet and shards of dried paint mingled with the cloud of dust that hung in the air.  
  
"Fight me, coward!" Wolf roared.  
  
Leon drew back, retreating to the relative safety of Andrew's side, wisely putting the desk between himself and the enraged lupine. "Enough!"  
  
Panting, Wolf obliged and sunk to his knees, clutching his wounded paw. O'Donnell was strong, but punching the wall had hurt like Hell. He was only vaguely aware of the blood trickling between his split knuckles. "Sorry," he rasped, and then cringed, more pained by the apology than the throbbing sting.  
  
"I don't want to fight you," Leon said evenly. "Listen to reason, Wolf."  
  
Andrew shot Leon a worried look, brow furrowing as he stepped away and drew the black box protectively against his chest.  
  
"Fine," Wolf snarled as he pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled. The wobbly unsteadiness was quickly remedied by Leon, closing the distance between them in three smooth strides before thrusting himself under his companion's arm.  
  
"Careful."  
  
Andrew fidgeted as he watched Leon lead Wolf back to the desk and ease him into the chair. "What should we do?"  
  
As soon as Wolf was off his feet, Leon looked up and wrinkled his snout in thought, nostrils flaring as he drew in the rank scent of his apartment. It was high time that he got out of this hellhole. Corneria wasn't his home anymore. Things had changed. No, Leon instantly corrected himself, things were still changing.  
  
And not for the better.  
  
"Where's Pigma?"  
  
"Hiding," Wolf groaned, head bowed as he massaged his wounded paw. "You know he can't be seen here. Not after."  
  
Andrew nodded and cast Wolf a vaguely apologetic, reassuring look. "Right."  
  
"Right," Leon echoed dully. "Then I propose that someone send word to him as soon as possible that we've left the planet and are returning to Venom. Andross can call judgment on the Arwing."  
  
"It was never your decision to make in the first place," Wolf hissed angrily, though his heart wasn't in it. "Why should I listen to you?"  
  
"Because you agree with me." Leon sighed. "Come along then. I don't want to spend one more day on this wretched world. This isn't the place for us."  
  
Wolf lifted his head and flashed Leon a toothy grin. "To Venom, then?"  
  
"To Venom." 


	5. IV

Leon Powalski found no satisfaction in the monotonous droll that was his life. At least he had had respect when he was a forensic scientist. People came to him with questions and have gave them answers. Granted, they weren't always answers that said people wanted to hear, but dealing with the dead had been his job, and Leon was damn well proud of it.  
  
Working for Andross wasn't quite the same. His position here held no prestige, no honour, no glory; not that Leon wanted honour or glory, but this at least gave him something to complain about. Becoming Andross' personal messenger boy wasn't exactly the future that the chameleon had in mind when Star Fox had met its end.  
  
How long ago had that been? Leon shuddered to think. It seemed an eternity, an eternity of putting up with the gaggling imbeciles that dared to call themselves his teammates. Teammates indeed. Their group didn't even have a proper designation, or a name to answer to. Most days he didn't mind Pigma's veracious appetite, indeed, the hog smelled much better than most of his kind. Dengar was shrewd, besides, intelligent in his own scheming sort of way. As much as Leon hated to admit it, they needed him.just like they needed Andrew. And Wolf. If anyone didn't belong in the quartet, it was Leon himself.  
  
"Is something on your mind?"  
  
The sound of a series of staccato steps upon concrete faded back into reality and Leon found himself walking briskly down the main hall of Building #465, or as it was known to its residents, The Hive. The walls were as narrow as they were bleak, without paint, without colour, without life. Purposefully deceiving. This was where all the decisions were made. This was where Andross himself resided.  
  
"I said, is something on your mind?"  
  
Leon glanced toward the voice and was met with a pair of startling green eyes, wide and prompting as Andrew tried to coax an answer out of him.  
  
"Nothing it particular," Leon lied, viciously ignoring the pair of piggish and wolfish snickers in front of him. "Why?"  
  
Andrew shrugged. "You seem off."  
  
Leon was tempted to pass it off as traveling sickness. It had been a long three-day journey from Corneria to Venom. Things would have gone by much quicker if they'd been permitted to use the designated warp gates set out by independent merchants in deep space. Unfortunately, this also meant having their movements tracked by outlying Cornerian fleets. The risk was simply too great.  
  
And so, they had gone the long way, crossing from one side of the system to the other without stopping to refuel. It was a miracle that their ships had made it in the first place.  
  
"The Arwing," Andrew had been keen to point out, "wouldn't have any difficulty traveling through deep space." "In fact," he went on to say, "the Arwing could have made the trip in half the time."  
  
Leon wasn't mistaken when he thought he detected a smug note in the vervet monkey's tone. Was Andross going to be so haughty when they unveiled the little black box and its contents? Or would he err on the side of caution?  
  
"Out with it Leon." It was Wolf this time. "What's gnawing on you?"  
  
The chameleon saw no harm in telling the truth. "I'm a little apprehensive," he was reluctant to admit. "A little apprehensive about what Andross is going to think."  
  
"Uncle Andross will know the right thing to do."  
  
Pigma snorted, partly in indignation but mostly because he had tried to glance over his shoulder and ended up tripping over his own hooves. "Will he?"  
  
"Always."  
  
It was a twenty-minute walk from the Hive's hanger bay to the antechamber, not counting all the elevators and security check points that they were required to pass through. Anticipation gripped Leon by the throat as he finally walked through the main doors leading into Andross' self-proclaimed throne room. Inside, things were much more dynamic than the stark gray walls that connected The Hive and drew its residents together.  
  
"Powalski, O'Donnell," Andross boomed cheerfully. "My old friends. Andrew and Pigma as well! It is indeed a pleasure to see you all in good health."  
  
He was seated at the head of the room behind a simple mahogany desk. The floor was crafted completely of black-flecked marble, carved ornately to the specifications of the man aspiring to become Master of the Universe.  
  
Several sheets of crisp crimson silk were laid over the ape's lap, matching both his robes and the colour of the carpet that led wolf, pig, chameleon and monkey up to him.  
  
The gold-plated antechamber was something out of a historical storybook and much too fancy for his own tastes, Leon reflected bemusedly. He glanced up at the obsidian chandelier hanging directly above him as he fell into line and decided not to skip the pleasantries as he had originally intended.  
  
"My lord," he murmured. "I could say the same. You've never looked better."  
  
Andross chuckled, clapped his hands together and stood, rising to his full height of seven feet. He was not a gentle giant. The hard creased lines of age marred his face and greyed his hair, long, pale blond and well groomed. It was no secret that Andross was getting on in years; every day was a struggle to retain what little youth the ape had left, but in the end, not even the outer cosmetics that his dressers applied could stop the agonizing decay within.  
  
Andross was dying, and it pained him terribly to be on his feet. The silk cloth slid off his taut stomach to reveal a patch of bare skin, barbed electrodes probing deep into the soft pink flesh. Leon felt a twinge of pity as his eyes unconsciously wandered over his master's skinny ribcage, gaze catching on the mechanical equipment bulging out of his belly. It had been like this for some time now. The disease, although no one knew exactly what it was, was eating him from the inside out.  
  
"Do you have it?" he asked.  
  
"We do." Wolf motioned to Andrew, who strode forward to deliver the little black box directly into his uncle's overly large hands.   
  
Like a child fawning over a bag of freshly baked cookies, Andross drew the box against his chest, one long finger sliding over the edge. Then, unable to support his gaunt weight any longer, he sat back down.  
  
"Your contact, Leon," he prompted. "An avian, yes?"  
  
"Falco Lombardi."  
  
Suddenly pensive, Andross rubbed one giant palm over his chin, deep in thought. "We will speak of it later, you and I."  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
You four have been very good to me," Andross said slowly, carefully deliberating over his words. "Very.loyal."  
  
Pigma cringed and Andross acknowledged the hog with an amused nod. "It would be rude of me to ignore the services that my friends have provided during these most difficult years, don't you think?"  
  
"O-Of course." Pigma was squirming, floppy ears flapping this way and that as he glanced from Wolf to Leon and back to Wolf again. "Right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"I wholeheartedly agree." Andross smoothed the silks back over his lap and concealed the offensive obtrusions sticking out of his body. "Which is why I am promoting you. Running errands for me has surely grown tiring."  
  
Leon's brain rejoiced. Praise the Gods!  
  
Andross continued: "We will be commencing an attack on the outlying planets within the month. Corneria must understand the implications of its current position. It is high time that they started taking us seriously. Star Fox is long dead." (Pigma cringed again.) "Without James McCloud to protect him, General Pepper is useless. I hereby decree that a new force should rise from the ashes." Smile curving his lips, Andross turned to Wolf, a condescending gleam in his perceptive green eyes. "O'Donnell, you were nothing but a drunken space pirate when I found you wasting your life away. But you have potential, my boy. That's why I chose you. Leon and Pigma as well. Three better pilots I have never known."  
  
Leon could swear that Pigma was blushing.  
  
"What about me, Uncle?"  
  
Andross chuckled again, deep and rumbling. "It only makes sense that Wolf should take you under his wing, wouldn't you agree, O'Donnell?"  
  
Afraid to say otherwise, the lupine offered the pair of vervet monkeys a curt nod. "I wouldn't have it any other way."  
  
"Then it is thus: the four of you shall permanently band together under my watch. From now on, you are to be my personal Star Fox - no, Star Wolf! Beautiful." Andross waved a dismissive hand and ushered them from the room. "Return to your quarters and you will find something special awaiting each and every one of you. Think of it as a reward for your efforts, my little grim reapers."  
  
Leon Powalski, Agent of Death. It had a nice ring to it. 


End file.
